Increasing productivity.
From the bottom of bottomlessness.
Pointless old stuff.
You could buy a used car.
From all the coins.
If you melted down the coins.
Made a priceless statue.
Increasing productivity.
It’s soda cans worth less and less.
It’s an old dog collar when the dog died and no one cares.
It’s fish when you don’t have a fishing pole so you hop in the water and splash!
Filling up old cars with old engine oil, and even older rage.
Increasing.
Made a priceless statue.
The old soda at the bottom of a can.
Rust misbehaves.
If there was room for error?
I would be rich like engine oil and decay.
It increases.
In increments.
Filled with the stems of never doing stuff.
I have enough dominos that could slam into me.
Like old stuff, who knows.
Why don’t I write everyday?
When writing-whispers happen all the time.
But that’s them.
The stems of not doing stuff are like broccoli stems.
But that’s who they are.
The art of writing sometimes sits in me like I ate all the dominos.
The writing-whispers get chopped up.
Bent blades do all the work.
Time went by like broken dishes.
Just turned into a pond filled with old stuff.
I have shoes filled with gratitude.
Bandaids are made of sludge.
And do-nothing bathroom tiles have grout perpetually.
There’s nothing like broken dishes.
Broken dishes.
Except maybe cars.
They grumble and go to junk yards endlessly.
Time went by like broken dishes, cracked, nothing, jerking awake,
Dishes.
Just me thinking of me.
I have a collection of myself,
As well as feathers, and old computer monitors.
And the worn out December.
Tattered like the creatures that eat spiders at night.
It’s only me in here.
In my t-shirt and jeans that seem to have too many pockets.
I have a collection that could include-
December and me.
Just me thinking of syrup, pine cones, and wavy things.
I have enough of myself everywhere.
Just like we have enough fall leaves until the leaf fairy comes through with her teeth.
I know things about the night.
Old stuff and empty candy wrappers.
Just me thinking of me.
Not because I care.
It’s just that I have a five dollar bill in my pocket today.
Old and crumpled.
(“Depth Psychology Merit Badge”, 2015, original oil)
The mind is a mysterious thing
Handling the conscious and unconscious
Simultaneously,
A true multitasker behind its multimasked face.
So much remains below the surface
Monitored, projected and reacted to instinctively
Without even needing to rise to the level
Of conscious awareness.
And what does rise, getting all the attention,
Is often the same old stuff
Patterns and habits, worries, hopes and fears
Wearing deep grooves so hard to erase.
Below, the current shifts, fluidly
In tidal rhythms but with a constantly creative
Playful air that seems to defy
Its survival imperative.
How can the mind be so accepting
In the face of change’s annihilation?
Maybe it knows something in the depths
Which we mere mortals with rational logic reject.
Something fluid, tidal and creative
Something both above and below
Something which is a nothing
But the light reflected in her face.
(10/7/25)
Honey your worth more than money
Your all love can bring
Your my everything
Everyday this I say love you in everyway
So many was just plain old stuff
For the holidays and christmas
Baby your My Gift
News is abhorring
And so boring
Starting from the break of dawn
I think we need
To be indeed
Vaccinated for the yawn
They always try
The same tired lie
Their old shtick goes on and on
I’ll catch my death
With lack of breath
If they don’t vaccinate the yawn
They put on acts
With rusty facts
Their dog dug up from the lawn
And then they’ll drone
Over that bone
Hurry and vaccinate the yawn
Obey we should
For public good
And if not they’ll use their brawn
That same lousy
Makes me drowsy
Excuse me while I yawn
Here’s protection
From infection
Sorry but we’ve seen that con
So please instead
Cure sleepyhead
And vaccinate the yawn
We’ve had enough
Of their old stuff
We’re pooped out being their pawn
Since they’re creepy
We’ll stay sleepy
Until they vaccinate the yawn
if a had a saturday morning to give you
i would bring a sunday vibe and a ginger ale float to your door
we would watch night tracks and dance to the good old stuff
however it is monday in the modern world and you are no longer mine
i remember our movie tuesdays talking about being thankful to make it to hump day
we embrace, cuddle, and play via stroke sessions on anticipation thursday
friday we feel rich and we ain't feelin' anyone or anything with even a hint of 'bill' in it
being that today is your birthday and i am fully blocked from any and every wonderful thing that is you
all i can do in the moment is just submit to the tears and be thankful for all memories made with you
Let's grow old with gold,
Life hidden in various folds...
Lovable moments preserved in hearts,
Some hard lessons saved as drafts...
Generally relationships take time
But some bonds instantly shine...
I have a mix of both the worlds,
Few are a straight line and some are curves...
At last, everything & everyone will become old,
Remember that experiences cannot be sold...
Love, live and laugh louder
Care deeper and respect people...
Time can heal the old burns,
Enjoy the walk, don't just run...
Essence of love is in growing old together,
Give each other wings to feel the pleasure...
Whether it's a rattle or a soft toy
Old stuff gives immense joy...
In surge of becoming latest and new,
Grow old with gold views...
Written by~
Rashmi Kaushik
#MyDynamicEmotions
A day to forget
It was a rotten day from the start, got up late
feeling as if he had not slept at all and the night had been dreamless
all his phobias leak into his dream, making the day
easier to endure.no point turning on the TV, same old stuff wars
It is easy to stop a war but near impossible to stop
and this war is a conflict about values.
He made a coffee but had no milk, and the toaster didn’t function
ate a banana instead; versatile fruit easy to eat
and not as fattening as slimming prophets say.
They were having lunch at a Scandinavian club it was dark
looked like a den for unhappy escapists, angry people talking
critically about the country they had chosen to live in.
They ate stew at a local café, and a fly landed on his wife’s food
she is a hypochondriac who claimed she had been poisoned
hauled her into the car, which had a parking sticker.
When she felt better after her brush with calamity, he drove
her to a nail bar, while waiting he played the radio
When he started the car, the battery was flat.
You've come out of the books
You've come out of the dry roses
When I looked my old stuff, again
You've come out of closed envelopes
Nothing can stop you my light
You've come out of the wood holes
Your laughter tells me something
You've come out of the titles of love
How simple is the breath, you take
You've come out of the torments
There is neither demand nor curiosity
You've come out of wrong thoughts
Time will not return, you will be useless
You've come out of the misery's shelter
Your quietness tells me, Imran!
You've come out of questions
Ever search for something interesting on TV
You finally give up and go back to your PC
Same old stuff
Enough is enough
Aliens, Sasquatch and monsters under the sea
Do I need a book to tell me to relax?
I can’t believe you told me that
Why would I need a book to show me
How to relax or how to be me
You’d think I’d be the expert on all things me
For I’ve known me throughout my whole history
I know everything there is to know
I even know how I know
So don’t tell me now I need to relax
I can’t even believe you came up with that!
Now why are you looking at me so?
Maybe my voice is a little loud, you know
And maybe I get uptight when things are newer
Like who needs a program for a coffee brewer
I’m used to all the old stuff
You know me I make a fuss
When something or someone changes the plans
Why can’t the original things just stand
I still see that quizzical look on your face
Why do I feel so out of place
Well maybe just let me take a quick look
Since you already went and bought the dumb book
A funny little poem for a friend
- 02/01/21 4PM
The movers came to clean out my house,
And said to one another
“Let’s remove ALL the furniture!
The baby carriage and accessories
have served their purpose.
That old stuff is nothing but clutter now.
Don’t let the mother see us
take everything out.
She might want to save her heirlooms:
uterus, cervix, tubes and ovaries.
They really must go,
and it’s better to move them all at once.
Let’s make it quick.
We’ve got other cleaning jobs today, too.”
My baby’s room is empty.
The movers sealed off the space and left.
Where did my baby furniture go?
Was it handled with utmost care?
Will it be reused or recycled?
As owner for decades,
why did I believe their “better out than in”
prevention strategy and problem-solving remedy?
Who decided that I could live
without furniture anyway?
Will that area of my house shrink
for lack of occupancy?
Will the vacuum bring ecstasy, grief or pain?
Will the plumbing to my bathroom expand?
Hist er rec to me!
Does anyone understand why the head of my house
grapples with questions at hand?
Every morning I go to work
Sever days a week
Ten hours a day
It seems like I hardly get to sleep
Seven days a week
The same old stuff every day
It seems like I hardly get to sleep
Working all day, just waiting on my pay
The same old stuff every day
Ten hours a day
Working all day, just waiting on my pay
Every morning I go to work.
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